The Last Drink
by Tubular Fox
Summary: One more minute, and then he'll go. And he'll forget and move on. Spock/Kirk, Spock/Uhura - sequel up!


This fic is depressing, just so you know. It came to me while I was standing out in the rain one night, and wouldn't let me rest until it was written. But it didn't come out so badly. Italicized phrases are memories.

Sorry about the annoying formatting, but the uploader is NOT COOPERATING. It sucks, because the formatting's important to the flow of the story. But oh well.

Disclaimer: Star Trek XI belongs to JJ Abrahms and Gene Roddenberry. I own nothing.

* * *

The room spun pleasantly, a mix of familiar sounds and colors dampened down by the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat.

But he needed air.

He stumbled out the door, a quick glance at the sky revealing that the sun had long since set. Not a surprise, really. How long had he been at that bar?

Four hours? Five?

Long enough, but yet it wasn't. He hadn't forgotten, _dammit_, but he didn't want another drink.

…Did he?

…No.

Clouds rolled steadily in and an ominous rumble had started somewhere off in the distance. But it wasn't raining. Yet. He turned up his collar against the wind and suppressed a shiver.

Best shore leave _ever_.

The first drops began to fall, making dark spots that stood out on the shoulders of his jacket in the light from the corner streetlamp. The light patter increased in volume as the rainfall picked up.

Maybe he should go home.

Take a shuttle. Call a cab. He _should_ go home, shouldn't he. Take a shuttle. Call a cab. Take a shuttle, call a cab, take a shuttle, call a—

Or maybe he'd just walk.

How long had it been since he'd walked somewhere? Take a shuttle, call a cab—_hell_, beam up to his ship. Go anywhere he wanted. But _he_ was on the ship. Or at least _he_ would be, if they actually had orders to go anywhere. Right now _he_ was probably with _her_.

He needed another drink.

If he could think things like that, he definitely wasn't drunk enough. He could still remember. Wasn't that why he'd gone to the bar in the first place? To forget?

He began to walk.

Home. Home sounded great right now. Oh yeah, his home was the ship. He'd have an even harder time forgetting there. Someplace else, then.

His feet carried him off with more confidence than he felt.

The constant downpour had soaked his jacket and hair thoroughly, plastering them to his body and beginning steady work on his undershirt. A chill was setting in, but he couldn't tell if it was due more to the rain or his thoughts.

He shook his head an decided it didn't really matter, did it.

Truth be told, he wasn't really paying attention to where his feet were taking him. He couldn't go home, didn't want to go back to the bar…so maybe they knew more than he did right now. He trusted them to take him where he needed to go.

The crisp sounds of his footfalls on the pavement brought him some comfort, anyway.

It was ridiculous. Here he was, pining over someone out of his reach because of circumstances beyond his control. That wasn't like him at all. If he had fallen—

Fallen?

…In love?

Yes.

Yes he had.

Fifteen minutes later he was standing in front of a building on the edge of Starfleet campus. A dorm building, but more like a rentable house, really. There were lights on inside.

This was even worse than the ship.

He was trying to _forget_, dammit! _He_ was inside there. It was hard to forget when _he_ was so close. He stood, staring at the lighted windows, his feet bringing his body to a stop, just outside the circle of light cast by the streetlight.

He would only stay for a minute.

Only a minute, he swore to himself.

Only a minute, and then he would go.

And he would forget, move on.

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

He turned to go. There was no reason for him to be there. Not anymore. Not since—

_"I think we should be together."_

He shook his head. He was going to _forget!_

_"Captain…'_

"Captain."

He paused. That had sounded like—

"Captain?" The look over his shoulder revealed a figure in the open door. "Jim?"

_"Jim, we cannot."_

Shoulders tensed, he turned back around. A month of not seeing each other daily hadn't changed _him_ in the slightest.

"Spock."

"Jim, would you like to come in? It is raining."

_"A relationship of that nature would not be beneficial to either of us. It would be…_

_illogical."_

They'd been in _love_, dammit!

"Raining?" He laughed. "You have a talent for understatement, Spock."

"Is that a yes?" An eyebrow raised. Maybe there _was_ something here.

He was just about to agree, stepping into the circle of light. Spock was alone. They could sit and play chess, or talk—

"Spock? Who are you talking to?" a feminine voice, familiar and heart-wrenching, called from inside.

"Jim, Nyota." Spock stepped aside to let Jim in, revealing the woman he had chosen as the more logical choice than the captain. "Jim, if you would—"

Jim held up his hand.

"No, thanks, actually. I wouldn't want to intrude." Before Spock or Uhura could reply, he had backed into the shadows once more.

Maybe he was imagining the sadness in Spock's eyes.

Or maybe not.

Well, whichever one it was, Spock had made his choice. They both had to live with it now.

It took a few minutes, but the door closed.

Kirk sighed and began to walk again, resigning himself to the rain and the wind and the not-quite-drunk enough state of mind that wouldn't let him forget. Maybe his feet would take him someplace better this time.

And

_damn_,

maybe

he

wanted

that

drink

after

all.

* * *

The end. Sad, ne? Maybe I'll write a happy sequel, if enough people want one. Please review!


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